A Deduction of the Human Conscience
by FaustusianSutcliff
Summary: A Johnlock College AU This time. John knows him as Professor Sherlock Holmes. This time Sherlock knows John as Mr. Watson, pre-med, senior college student. Main pairing: Johnlock, side Mystrade, past Sherlock/Moriarty, fake Sherlock/Irene
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **Holmes and Watson**

"You look bored."

Sherlock glanced over at the man that'd come to sit next to him almost twenty minutes ago. He had to lean in close to be heard over the pulsing beats of the music. He smelled clean, with the unmistakable scent of aftershave and lavender.

"What makes you think I'm bored?" Sherlock asked. He leaned in even closer, head bent towards the other man's ear.

Not lavender. Tea. Earl Grey.

"You haven't moved from that seat since you came in nearly an hour ago," the man replied. He sounded amused.

"Were you watching me?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he sought the man's gaze.

"So what if I was?" the man replied.

"What makes you think I'm interested?" Sherlock asked.

"If you weren't interested you would've told me to fuck off," the man replied. He smiled amused. "But you haven't."

"Yet." Sherlock quipped.

"You wanna dance?" he asked. "Song's shit, but it's better than sitting here." He stood up and, without waiting to see if Sherlock would follow, he started walking towards the throng of bodies on the floor.

The music was shit: some mainstream song that was currently taking the city and riding it for all it was worth before it was forgotten about.

Sherlock tossed back his drink and got up to follow. The young man was shorter than he was, head stopping just below his chin. Blond hair and blue eyes. He had on a blue and black flannel with black jeans.

A further assessment revealed an athletic physique which made the flannel stretch across his shoulders.

"So you _are_ interested," he smirked playfully as Sherlock joined him.

"I never said that," Sherlock scoffed.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

"This song is shit," Sherlock said instead.

"Told you," the man replied.

"Why do you want to dance then?" Sherlock frowned.

"Because that's what normal people do," he answered. Another amused smile crossed his face. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, his fingers periodically brushed the nape of his neck. "You don't get out much do you?"

"I don't come out to these clubs much," Sherlock answered. His hands found the man's hips and fingers slipped under the flannel to brush the warm skin. "I broke up with my girlfriend."

"I'm sorry," the man smiled.

"You're lying," Sherlock's lips twitched in a matching smile.

"Course I'm lying, her loss is my gain. You're bloody gorgeous," he chuckled. "What's your name?"

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"I can't very well call you gorgeous now can I?" he teased.

"Sherlock," he told him.

"No last name?" he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"I'm John."

"John."

Sherlock let the name roll off his tongue. "Would you like to come back to my place, John? I promise I've got better music."

"Lead the way."

Sherlock reluctantly pulled away and took John's hand in his. With a quick stop to grab their coats, they stumbled out into the night air. He flagged down a cab and rattled off his address. His breath caught in his throat as John reached down and squeezed him through his pants.

"Bit indecent don't you think?" Sherlock groaned.

"You like it," John smirked and pressed a wet kiss to the nape of his neck.

Sherlock bucked up into his hand and dug his fingers into John's hair. The cab ride was much too short, to Sherlock's disappointment and the cabbie's relief. He shoved the money into the man's hand and the two stumbled out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

"Nice place," John managed.

"Tour?" Sherlock asked as he led him inside and upstairs. "Living room, sitting room, office, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom."

He practically shoved John onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He was muscular but small underneath Sherlock. Hands on either side of his head, he admired how John's lips were swollen and red.

"I seem to recall you had better music?" John panted.

Sherlock sat up on his knees and picked up the remote to the stereo on the nightstand pressed play. Habanera from Carmen began filling the air and Sherlock tossed the remote to the side, barely hearing it clatter against the floor.

* * *

John squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away at the feeling of warm sun on his face. The arm around his waist tightened and tried to pull him in closer than he already was.

"Good morning…" the voice was thick with sleep and caressed John's skin like velvet.

"Mmm," John made a noise of agreement and opened his eyes to take in the face of his bedmate.

"Good morning indeed, gentleman."

John sat up or tried to. It seemed his bedmate- _Sherlock_ his tired mind supplied-was against the idea of letting him go at the present moment. It was with a reluctant huff that Sherlock moved his arm and allowed John to sit up.

The woman standing at the end of the bed was dressed in a short black dress with his hair pulled up in a bun. A string of white pearls was worn close to her throat and red lips were in a thin line, through her eyes were filled with amusement.

"How did you get in here?" Sherlock remained sprawled on his back with one arm tucked under his head. The other still lay behind John and his fingers were drawing patterns in his skin that made John want to squirm.

"I have a key," she answered. "You said you were going out for drinks."

"I did."

John could practically feel the man smirking behind his back.

"It was an excellent drink."

"I assume these are yours then?" the woman held up his red briefs with one perfectly manicured finger and smirked.

John swallowed as his cheek flushed a deep scarlet and nodded. "Yes...if I could just have them I will get out of your hair…"

"Nonsense, Irene was just leaving," Sherlock dropped his hands lower and John gripped the sheets tighter. "Weren't you?"

She dropped the briefs onto the bed and started to walk towards the open bedroom door. "You're no fun, darling."

"Door," was Sherlock's response and it shut after her with a soft click.

"Who the hell was that?" John turned to look at Sherlock.

"My girlfriend," Sherlock answered.

He started to tug John back down but John pulled his arm free.

"Your girlfriend?" he practically hissed. "You said you broke up."

"Fine. Ex-girlfriend then," Sherlock shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" John repeated. "You have a girlfriend! You just cheated on your girlfriend and she bloody caught us."

"Ex-girlfriend, John," Sherlock reminded.

He let John get out of bed and rolled over onto his stomach. "We haven't had sex in ages."

"That's not the point," John grabbed his briefs and pulled them, with more force than was probably necessary.

He found his jeans on the floor next to the closet and his shirt tossed over a lamp. His shoes were next to the bedroom door and his sock, he gave up after only two seconds of searching, he could buy more.

"I think you're overreacting," Sherlock finally said. "Come back to bed and we can talk about it."

"No. There's nothing to talk about," John shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, you were fantastic but I don't make it a habit of sleeping with people in a relationship."

"We're not together," Sherlock said.

"You don't seem too sure about that," John pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up. John averted his gaze as the man walked to the bathroom and stepped out a couple seconds later in a light blue dressing gown. He walked up to John and John took a step back.

Sherlock smirked and took another step forward causing John to a step back. This process repeated until John was backed up against the wall. He leaned in as he was going to kiss him, smirked and proceeded to open the bedroom door.

"I believe your jacket was lost somewhere in the sitting room," Sherlock mused.

John swallowed thickly. "Right…"

The woman, Irene, was sitting on the couch, with one leg crossed over the other looking at her phone. She was also sitting on John's jacket.

John awkwardly shuffled over. "Eh...If I could just have my jacket please...I'll be out of your hair."

"So soon?" She stood up and walked over to where Sherlock had sprawled in a chair. She brushed a few curls away from the man's face.

"Be a dear and tell John we're not together," Sherlock said. He swatted at her hand and she rolled her eyes.

"Right…" John grabbed his coat and tore his gaze away from the two figures. "I'll just be going…"

He made a hasty exit and shut the front door behind him firmly. He should've known the man was with someone. No one that gorgeous was alone. And he'd been stupid enough to fall for those charms.

He caught a taxi back to the dorms and sank down into the seat with his heels pressed against his eyes.

"Way to go, Watson."

* * *

John sighed as he sat down in his chair and reached up to rub his shoulder. Coulson was going to pay for that move in practice. He leaned back in the seat and glanced at the time on his phone.

There was still three minutes until the class was supposed to start and the room was decently filled. Philosophy wasn't exactly the class he'd been planning on taking, but he'd heard it was an easy A and he needed something to balance all of his biology and chemistry classes.

John couldn't help but notice the class was filled with some attractive young women.

Though his mind wandered back to a few nights previous and Sherlock. Despite how much he tried to forget about him, he kept popping up in the back of his mind. He was still pissed that'd he'd been lied to, disappointed in himself for falling for it, and horrified that the man's girlfriend had seen them no less. In their _bed_.

But, there was just something about the man..the air of sophistication he seemed to carry about him, the pale skin, and high cheekbones...Curls that were just as soft as John knew they'd be. And his eyes...

John had spotted him the second he'd entered the club. He'd come in alone, cheeks flushed from the cold air outside, curls ruffled from the wind. But his eyes. His eyes had a wildfire in them.

He was clearly on something, John had summarized. He didn't know what. But the man was high. And maybe that was the reason John had found himself approaching the man.

"Good evening."

The smooth voice that cut through the air was enough to send a shiver down John's spine and his head snapped up. No.

At the front of the room stood Sherlock. He cut a nice figure in a black suit with a deep purple undershirt, the first button's popped open to show the pale skin. If John squinted he could still the bruise from where his teeth had left a nice sized mark. Maybe he'd get lucky and the man wouldn't notice him.

"No, I'm not Dr. Nozik. He has been dismissed on grounds I am not permitted to share with you, but they are grounds on which I will not be making the same mistake," his eyes landed on John as he finished the sentence. His expression was unreadable as he looked at him. There was a brief pause before he turned on his heel and stalked to the board.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. You may address me as Professor Holmes and only Professor Holmes. Not Holmes, not Mr. Holmes, and not Sherlock," he wrote the title on the board with a quick flourish, "and for those of you who grew up hearing 'there is no such thing as a stupid question'," the click of the cap on the pen sounded like a bang as he turned to face the class again, "that's wrong. There are such things as a stupid question and I will tell you so. Any questions?"

No one raised their hand and he smiled. "Excellent. Let's start with the syllabus." He pulled a stack of papers out of his briefcase and dropped them on the desk of some poor man at the front of the classroom. "As you can see, I've made a few changes. Unlike Dr. Nozik, I will not accept anything half-assed. Most of you are completely capable of writing complete thoughts and I expect as such."

John took one of the small stapled stacks of paper and quickly scanned the front page.

 _ **A Deduction of the Human Conscious**_

was written across the top in bold lettering. Followed by a list of books for the course as well as a mini summary of the assignments.

"As you can see on the third page, I've listed each assignment you'll be working on both in class and outside of class. Each assignment has a word count and word limit. If you hand a physical copy of your paper to me, I will not read it. Electronic copies only."

John's lips twitched amused.

 _ **ELECTRONIC COPIES ONLY**_

was written in red capitals, underlined and circled.

"Yes?"

John looked up to see a young woman to the left of him had raised her hand. The man's face was blank, but the look in his eyes suggested he knew the following question was likely to be stupid.

"What happens if we go over the word limit?" she asked. "Because I tend to ramble when I want to get a point across and I want to know if you'll downgrade us for going over."

"You get a fifty-word reprieve. You can either be over fifty words or under fifty words of the limit without any penalty. Anything after I will disregard. Think of your essay's like blog posts. The human brain can only focus for so long and will stop being interested after a certain point. I do not allow rewrites, I am not flexible on due dates. This class meets for three hours once a week. I've given you a list of every assignment well before the first is even supposed to be due. There is no excuse for failure."

"But-"

"No buts." He interrupted sharply. "No excuses."

John felt a stab of sympathy for the young woman in the front row. The rest of the class passed as smooth as one would expect. Sherlock Holmes was...energetic. He had no regard for people's feelings. (One girl ran out of the room crying before he'd finished covering the first half of the syllabus.) And he rambled. Frequently.

A task which takes most professors twenty minutes to a half hour took him two. The class fled from the room the second he was finished.

John, despite everything in his mind telling him to just leave, approached the front of the room.

"I wondered if you were going to approach or not," Sherlock told him as he leaned back against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"You didn't mention you were a professor," John said.

"John Watson. Pre-med student correct? Why are you taking an intro philosophy course?" Sherlock asked instead.

"I needed the class to balance all the bio and chem…" John answered. He hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. "You didn't mention you were a professor."

"It wouldn't have been any of your business," Sherlock pointed out.

John knew he had a point.

"I hope you're not expecting special treatment given our previous acquaintance," Sherlock continued. "Especially a quick shag."

John internally flinched at the obvious brush off.

"I wasn't expecting that at all...I didn't even know you would be teaching this course…"

Sherlock eyed him critically. "You smell."

John flushed. "Oh...uh yeah, I've got rugby practice before this…" He suddenly felt awkward in his tank top and shorts.

"Try to find time to shower between now and then," Sherlock told him. He packed up his things and stalked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **I'm also going to add there's probably some typo's I've missed.**

 **Chapter 2: I'm Sorry**

"You're late."

"I was busy."

Sherlock sat down across from Mycroft and picked up the menu. "I retained that Dr. Nozik's advisees when I took over his position."

"Are you settling in well?" Mycroft asked.

"As well as one can settle in the hole which you've stuck me," Sherlock answered.

"It's only for a little bit," Mycroft assured him. "Just until your little escapade sorts itself out."

"I assumed you'd have taken care of it," Sherlock set the menu aside as the waitress walked over. "I'll have a sparkling water, and the house salad to start. Dressing on the side. Extra croutons."

She nodded and went to place his order.

"I pulled some strings yes, but you and I both know what happened, Sherlock. You won't be stepping foot on that campus again," Mycroft told him. "Nor any campus in that area as a matter of fact."

"Mycroft-"

"That's enough," Mycroft interrupted sharply. "We are not going to be having this conversation again. Now I've done my best to smooth the ruffled feathers. Mother and Father do not need to know the details, though I will tell them if you insist on lingering."

"And what have you told them then?" Sherlock asked. He thanked the waitress as she set down his drink and salad.

"You didn't want to start your career with a job you were handed rather than worked toward yourself," Mycroft answered. "Appealed to your humanity so to speak."

"Humanity? Dull, why didn't you tell them the truth?" Sherlock asked. "Seems like a perfect chance for you to gloat."

"While I'm appalled at the lack of self-respect you have shown, it'd break mother's heart to find out what you've done," Mycroft told him. "Though you're free to tell her the truth yourself."

Sherlock poured the dressing over his salad and stabbed at it with more force than necessary. "You gave Irene a key to my flat."

"It seems odd for your fiancée not to have a key," Mycroft pointed out.

"She's not my fiancée," Sherlock said.

"She is now," Mycroft replied.

"I haven't proposed."

"You will."

Sherlock stabbed at his salad. "And here I thought we were going to have a nice lunch. I'm not proposing and you can't force me to."

"Can't I?" Mycroft smiled.

"No. You can't," Sherlock answered. "I must be going now. I've got to prep for my lecture for this afternoon." He picked up a crouton and tossed it into his mouth. "Good day Mycroft. Give my best to Gordon."

Mycroft refrained from rolling his eyes.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the classroom and dropped his briefcase on the table with a thud. He took a quick head count of those who were there. The poor fellow who'd sat in the front row had moved two back and just out of his peripheral.

Pity.

Sherlock wanted someone to stare down.

He still had two minutes before the class was meant to start and spent them setting his laptop up on the podium and getting it connected to the projector.

"The last person in turns off the lights," he said as the door to the classroom opened.

The room was plunged into relative darkness and he picked up the remote. He turned on his heel to face the room and brought up the first slide.

"Before we are able to understand the present, we must first go back and understand the-" he looked over as the door of the classroom opened and- "So nice of you to join us, Mr. Watson."

Even in the dark of the room, the only light coming from the projector, Sherlock could still see the wet hairs clinging to the younger man's forehead and the labored breathing of his chest. Sherlock let his eyes trail over the man's form before he turned to the front of the room again.

"The longer you stand there the longer I will keep you all after class," Sherlock announced.

John reluctantly sank into one of the seats at the front of the room.

"As I was saying before we can begin to look at the present, we must go back and look at the past. The birth of the Human Conscious," Sherlock continued. "To do so, we will start by answering a few of the W's. The Who's, the What's, and the Why's."

He pressed the button for the next slide.

"Who can tell me the name of a great philosopher?" he asked.

He tried not to roll his eyes at the lack of answers.

"Come now, there is a bit of Q and A to this lecture," he added. "I'll start us off with an easy one. Plato. Now, you." He pointed to a girl in the back of the room.

"O...oh, um, Adam Smith?" She stammered.

"Just barely, but I'll accept it," Sherlock agreed. "Anyone else? If anyone bothered to check your student emails, you would know I sent out a list of Philosophers for this class."

"John Locke?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "Why?"

"What?" John blinked.

"Why John Locke?" Sherlock asked.

"You said to name a philosopher...he's a philosopher isn't he?" John answered. He shifted a little under Sherlock's gaze.

"But why name him?" Sherlock answered. "Out of all the easy ones: Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, Socrates, Voltaire...and yet you chose John Locke. I'm merely curious as to why."

"I don't know...I just did…" There was a hint of annoyance in his voice now.

Sherlock walked back to the front of the room. "Learn from example people, do not simply blurt the first thing that comes to mind unless you're prepared to expound on it."

* * *

"Problem Mr. Watson?" Sherlock asked as he packed up his things.

"You didn't tell Faith to expound," John answered as he stopped in front of the desk.

"Who?" Sherlock looked up.

"The girl you called on in class, her name's Faith and you didn't ask her to expound," John pointed out. "Why did you ask me?"

"Yours had a point. Adam Smith is dull," Sherlock answered. "Yet there was doubt in your voice when you brought him up. I was giving you the opportunity to explain."

"There was no doubt in my voice," John frowned.

"Of course there was," Sherlock scoffed. "I noticed it within the first moment of meeting you. You're unsure of yourself. I'd say as a result of growing up in the shadow of an elder sibling. Brother perhaps?"

A muscle in John's jaw ticked.

"Sister then?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"That's none of your business," John almost snapped.

"Ahh, family then as well," Sherlock tapped his chin. "Shame. You shouldn't let what your family think's get in the way of how you present yourself."

John looked like he wanted to say something but movement in the doorway made him stop and instead he smiled as he turned his head.

Sherlock followed his gaze to the young woman standing in the doorway. She smiled and gave a small wave towards John.

"New friend?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Professor Holmes," John answered as he walked over to her.

Sherlock tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase as the two walked away. He stalked to his office and tossed the case onto the couch against the back wall and shut the door behind him with a thud and walked up to the window.

His phone buzzed as it began to vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out. He pressed talk and leaned against the short bookcase. Sherlock could just barely make out John and the woman he'd left with exiting the building.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Dinner," Irene answered. "You've been avoiding me."

"I wonder why," Sherlock deadpanned. "I'm busy."

"Is it that darling blond you had a few weeks ago? Now, Sherlock, you know what happened last time," she said. "It'd be a shame if I were to tell big brother what you've been up to."

"You wouldn't dare," he pitched his voice low.

"Dinner, Sherlock. I've made our reservations for The Ledbury," she told him. "I never told him about that morning, but I may just have to change my mind."

"When?" He kept his voice clipped.

"Tomorrow evening at eight. I'll be a little late though, so order us a nice bottle of wine," she told him.

"Fine. Tomorrow night. Is that all?" He asked.

"Sweet dreams, darling," she answered.

He hung up when the line went dead and he tossed the phone onto the desk. He starred out the window awhile longer, John and the young woman had long since walked away, hand in hand much to his growing annoyance.

* * *

John rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited outside of Sherlock's office. The paper in his hand was close to ripping from the amount of force he'd been holding it with. There was a red mark on every single inch of the paper.

John wished he'd been exaggerating, but he wasn't. Three weeks. Three weeks he'd dealt with the man's cold demeanor, his brush-offs and to top it off, he'd said his girlfriend was cheating on him!...Well, the last one had been true. But it was still a dick mood.

He was brought out of his thoughts when the door open and a girl nearly ran out of the office, holding her bag to her chest.

"Oh, it's you," Sherlock drawled as he stepped into the hall. "Come in then."

"What the hell is your problem?" John demanded. He slapped the paper on the desk. "And where the hell do you get off telling me my ex-was cheating on me?"

"Really? That was just a shot in the dark," Sherlock mused as he shut the door. "As for your paper, I told you. I don't accept half-assed reasonings."

"My reasonings were not half-assed," John crossed his arms over his chest. "What is your problem with me? Ever since you found out I'm in your class you've been nothing but a jerk and an asshole."

"Jerk and asshole are relative terms, you can do better than that," Sherlock reached up to massage his temples.

John frowned a little bit and took a small step forward. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, just a headache. I get them from time to time," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and swayed on his feet.

"Shit," John surged forward as the man's body simple slumped forward. "Bloody hell you're heavy." He tried not to fall back and shifted his hold on the man as he attempted to maneuver him to the couch.

His attempts were thwarted when it seemed like Sherlock didn't want to let go. He let out a sigh and his lolled to the side to rest on John's shoulder. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Of course, he'd pass out in the middle of me yelling at him, as if my life isn't cliched enough at this point, John thought.

He got them to the couch and after a bit of maneuvering. The man was so unconscious, John probably would have arranged the man into the shape of a pretzel and he wouldn't have woken up. In the end, John was sitting at the end of the couch with Sherlock's head pillowed on his lap.

On closer inspection, he did look paler than normal. His face was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Even his curls were in a disarray. John sighed and ran his fingers through them.

"At least I've got my phone," John sighed.

John looked down as Sherlock began to stir and checked the time on his phone. Almost two hours had passed since he passed out, though, as Sherlock opened his eyes, they appeared less bloodshot than before.

"When was the last time you slept?" John frowned.

"What's today?" Sherlock asked as he sat up slowly.

"Thursday," John answered.

"Monday."

John blinked. "You haven't slept since Monday?"

"Oh no, wait, I haven't eaten since Monday. I haven't slept since Tuesday. No matter, that nap was sufficient enough to fuel me for another day," Sherlock answered.

"You're an idiot," John stated.

Sherlock frowned. "I beg your pardon."

"You can't just go days without sleeping and eating," John answered.

"I'm fine, I've done it for longer," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Eating and sleeping slows the brain process."

"You're joking right?" John shook his head and stood up. "Stay here."

He walked out of the room and jogged downstairs to the small cafe on the first floor of the building and returned a couple minutes later. He held out a bottle of water and one of the sandwiches.

"What's this for?" Sherlock frowned.

"In return for being your human pillow, you have to eat his sandwich and drink this bottle of water," John told him.

"I didn't ask you to be my human pillow," Sherlock pointed out.

"And I'm not asking you to eat now am I? I'm telling you, see the difference?" John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but took the water and the sandwich. John leaned against the desk.

"No practice today?" Sherlock asked after a beat of silence.

"What makes you think that I don't have it?" John asked.

Sherlock gave him a look as if to say 'it's really obvious you know'. "Let's start with your clothes, shall we? On the days you attend practice you tend to wear clothing that can be easily pulled on and off again. Usually a t-shirt and shorts, given that you've taken to showering after practice. On days you don't have practice, you tend to favor a nice button up or flannel with a pair of jeans. Mostly skinny jeans that flatter your arse."

John cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Now now don't be modest, you have a lovely arse," Sherlock smirked teasingly. "Your level of personal grooming tends to go up when you don't have practice, and you're late to class when you have practice."

"That was brilliant," John blinked.

"Really?" Sherlock took another swig from the water bottle. "That's usually not what people say."

"What do they say?" John asked.

"Piss off," Sherlock answered.

John chuckled. "I believe it." He pretended to look at a spot on the floor before looking up again. "So you like my ass in those jeans huh?"

"Don't play coy," Sherlock answered he leaned back on the couch. He started to unwrap the sandwich. "If I recall, I proved just how much I like your ass."

"...how'd you know Sarah was cheating on me?" John asked instead.

"Saw her with another student, I think they were in the process of demonstrating how the reproductive system...functions," Sherlock answered. "How'd you find out?"

"Saw some questionable texts to one of the guys on the rugby team, and some pictures, wasn't hard to put two and two together," John answered. "To be honest I couldn't care less."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked.

"Now who's playing coy?" John asked.

Sherlock took another bite of the sandwich as a response. "Why can't you care less?"

"Well, I've got a bit of a thing for one of my professors," John answered. "Handsome bloke bit full of himself, yet somehow also a twat."

"And say this professor of yours, the one that's been a...twat…," Sherlock stood up and tossed the wrapping from the sandwich into the trash. "Say he apologizes for acting like said twat...would you accept his apology?"

"Professor-"

"Sherlock," Sherlock interrupted.

"...we can't," John shook his head.

"We're not doing anything John," Sherlock replied. "We're just two people, having an innocent conversation."

"Doesn't feel innocent," John pointed out.

Sherlock took a step back and fixed his coat. "How about now?"

John chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. "You are right in that I have been treating you unfairly, and for that, I apologize. I also apologize for not telling you about Irene."

"She seems...nice," John nodded a little.

Sherlock's lips twitched up in a small smile. "She's a bitch."

"Seems like it yeah," John agreed. "Look, we...we had fun and some bloody fantastic sex but we can't do that again."

"Because of Irene?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, but also because you're my professor and I'm a student and I could get kicked out and you could be fired," John answered. "I'm here on a rugby scholarship, I can't afford to get kicked out."

Sherlock nodded. "You're right...I'm sorry."

 _Student's aren't toys for you to occupy your fits of boredom, brother. You would do well to remember that._ Sherlock mentally waved away Mycroft's voice in his head.

"As a final act of redemption, I will look over your paper again and give you a fair grade," Sherlock told him.

"I thought you don't do that sort of thing," John said.

"I could change my mind if you prefer," Sherlock smirked teasingly.

"No. No, I think that's an excellent act of redemption," John told him. "Thanks…" He shoved his hands in his pockets and started for the door.

"See you in class, Mr. Watson," Sherlock told him as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **I'm also going to add there's probably some typo's I've missed.**

 **Warnings: Sexual content**

 **Goodnight**

"I think this a good stopping point." Sherlock closed the book he'd been lecturing from and set it on the desk. "I can already see that I've lost most your attention anyway."

He tried not to frown at John's empty seat. Second row, three seats over from the middle, still in Sherlock's peripheral, but he'd have to turn his full body if he wanted to look at him. But today, John had been absent.

He knew the reason of course. Homecoming weekend and as the rugby team usually played a homecoming game, the practice had doubled. Not that Sherlock was paying attention. Nor interested in going.

Sherlock sifted through his emails, every second one with the subject title Homecoming! In capital letters. He closed his laptop once he'd finished and taken out the quizzes from the classes lecture and his red pen.

He rolled it between his fingers and traced his fingers over the faint gold lettering before he uncapped it and began grading. He'd made it to the sixth quiz when his phone chimed, alerting him that there was a new email.

He capped the pen and picked up his phone.

 **RE: John Watson**

 **Subject: Missed Class**

Sherlock set the phone aside and pushed himself away from the desk as he stood up. He walked over to the door of his office and shut it before turning the lock. He walked over to the couch and laid down on his back throwing an arm over his face.

He closed his eyes and found himself conjuring the image of John in his head. Flushed cheeks, ruffled hair, lips parted just slightly.

Sherlock's hand deftly undid his belt and the button on his slacks before he slid his hand beneath the fabric and curled around his already hardening length.

He went further and tried to picture John in his uniform. Thin shirt pulled tight across a muscular chest. Shorts stopping just mid-thigh. God those thighs.

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tried to keep his pace even. He could still feel those thighs gripping him tight around the hips as he pushed himself up and down on Sherlock's member. They way they flexed under his fingers.

He bit down on the sleeve of his jacket as he spilled into his hand and slumped on the couch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and moved his arm to look at his hand. The sticky substance already starting to cool as it hit the air.

"Bollocks."

* * *

"I didn't think homecoming games were your thing," Molly said as she and Sherlock walked across the parking lot to the outdoor field. "You never went to a single one at Uni."

"If I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well try to make the best of it," he replied. "Thanks for coming with me on such short notice."

"Course," she smiled. "Been awhile since we got together."

"It has, hasn't it?" Sherlock gave her a slight smile as they passed through the gates. "Why don't you grab us some seats and I'll get some snacks."

"Sounds great," she nodded and walked off in the direction of the bleachers.

"Professor."

Sherlock turned and spotted John jogging towards him. His cleats clicked on the cement and his shirt clung to his skin, already a little damp with sweat from warm up.

"Mr. Watson," Sherlock greeted. "Shouldn't you be on the field?"

"We've got a little break before the game starts," John answered. "I was on my way back when I saw you. I didn't think you'd come."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Homecoming doesn't seem like it's your thing," John clarified.

"It's not," Sherlock agreed. "But, I'm nothing if not supportive of my students."

John rocked back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. "Right...well uh, enjoy the game."

"Good luck," Sherlock replied.

John gave him another smile before he turned and ran off towards the rest of his team. Sherlock grabbed a few hot dogs and sodas before making his way to where Molly had snagged them two seats.

"Hope these'll do," she said as he joined her.

They had a spot closer to the top giving them an ample view of the field. Sherlock picked up his soda and took a long pull.

"Who was that young man talking to you?" She asked after a little while.

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked over at her. "Oh, one of my students, he's one of the players."

She gave him a sidelong glance.

"He was just telling me how he didn't think I'd show up and I was only agreeing with him," Sherlock told her. "I've learned my lesson, Molly."

"Sherlock…" she trailed off and he sank lower in his seat.

"It was once but I didn't know he was going to be one of my students," he admitted. "Nothing has happened since. Honestly, I learned my lesson."

"Then why are you here?" She asked. "Why am I here?"

"You're here to enjoy my school's homecoming game and cheer our team to victory," he answered. "And then you're going to make sure I don't linger."

"Oh Sherlock…" she sighed. "What happened?"

"I would prefer not to talk about it," Sherlock said and smiled as one of the other professors of the school passed by. He tried not to pull a face seeing the man decked out in sports regalia. "If I ever do that, slap me."

"You're deflecting," she told him.

"There's nothing to talk about," he unwrapped his hot dog. "We met at a club, went back to my flat, had a good shag, and woke up to Irene. I may have led him to believe she and I were not currently together, he ran out...I found out he was a student in my class, may have been a bit of an arse for a while, but I apologized, and you know, agreed what happened can't happen again…."

"But you want it to happen again," she pointed out.

"No, I don't," he said.

"Sherlock, you don't do sports and yet you're here on homecoming night to watch rugby," Molly pointed out.

"I'm here to support my student, and nothing more," Sherlock stated, whether to affirm it to Molly or himself he didn't know.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Molly frowned as Sherlock started to walk towards the building housing the locker rooms.

"Bathroom," Sherlock answered. "You know me, bladder the size of a pea." He lied smoothly and tossed her the car keys. "Meet you in twenty."

He slipped through the crowd of people before she could reply and scanned the signs before finding what he was looking for and ducking around a corner as a group of the players came out laughing and clapping each other on the shoulder.

He caught the words 'party' and 'lots of beer' as he snuck in. He hid behind a small alcove of lockers as he walked into the men's and waited as a few more players left. He chanced a glance around the corner and spotted John in the midst of wiping dirt and sweat off his face as he talked to another player in the process of changing.

"Jesus Moran, how hard did you hit the bastard?" John laughed as he examined the other man's jersey.

"You're one to talk," the man, Moran, gave John a friendly shove. "You're lucky the ref wasn't able to tell whether or not you kicked the poor sod."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," John gave him an innocent smile and Sherlock found himself clenching his hands into fists.

Moran gave him a fake unconvinced look and took the jersey from John to stuff it in his duffel. "See you at the party?"

"I'd never miss the chance to drink you under the table! Just wanna shower first," John answered.

"Good game, Watson," Moran finished the conversation with a slap to John's shoulder and jogged out of the locker room.

Sherlock waited for a couple minutes to make sure John was, in fact, alone before he stepped out and leaned against the lockers.

"Congratulations."

"Bloody hell!" John jumped startled and spun on his heel. "You could've given me a heart attack!"

"You're far too young and in shape for such a thing," Sherlock answered.

He let his gaze trail over John's form and took in the jersey and rumpled shorts. When he looked up, there was a nice little blush on John's cheeks.

"You're not supposed to be in here," John tried to sound stern.

"I wanted to congratulate you on scoring the winning goal, but you came in here before I could," Sherlock replied.

He pushed himself off the lockers and started to walk towards him. He was, of course, detoured by the bench that separated himself and John and he took a moment to look at the piece of wood bolted to the floor with a glare.

"I missed you," Sherlock blurted out.

He cursed under his breath.

"You missed me…?" John asked.

"You weren't in class…" Sherlock answered. "And it was weird…"

John scratched the back of his neck and kicked at the floor with his cleat. "I missed you too…Despite the fact that you're a complete arse…"

Sherlock chuckled. "So you keep saying."

"Am I wrong?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock answered.

John laughed and Sherlock smiled at the warm feeling it created inside him. He couldn't remember the last time someone's laugh had affected him in such a way. He had never felt this way with, no, he shook the thought out of his head.

John's laughter faded and he raised a curious eyebrow as Sherlock started to climb over the bench and crowd him against the lockers. He reached up and cupped John's face between his hands and hesitated before leaning in and giving him a soft kiss.

John was still for a minute.

Sherlock had counted.

Then his arms were wrapping around Sherlock and he was kissing back. Sherlock pressed his body against John's and rocked. This earned a low moan from John and a twitch of interest from some lower parts of their bodies.

Sherlock pressed their foreheads together as he broke the kiss and dropped his hands to dig into John's hips and slip his fingers under the waistband of his shorts.

"Wha...what are you doing?" John panted.

"I told you, I wanted to congratulate you," Sherlock answered.

He sank to his knees, pulling down John's shorts and briefs at the same time but stopped once he reached mid-thigh. He stroked the soft skin, he'd have to remember to ask him if he shaved his thighs as well or if they were naturally hairless.

He wrapped a hand around the base of John's length and gave a few tugs as it began to fill. John covered his mouth and his eyes fluttered as Sherlock began to stroke him in earnest.

"Don't you dare stop," John practically growled as Sherlock suddenly let go.

Sherlock chuckled. "Not to worry, merely getting more comfortable." He shifted his position and parted his own legs in an effort to relieve some of the pressure in his own trousers and this time leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the head of his member and then took the head into his mouth.

"Ffffuuuck," John reached down and fisted Sherlock's hair with one of his hands and Sherlock groaned.

Sherlock placed his hands on the back of John's thighs as he began to take the entirety of him into his mouth and breathed in his scent: his musk, the dirt, and sweat that still clung to his body post game.

He took a few moments to calm himself down and gave an experimental swallow. John's grip tightened as he whimpered. Sherlock took pity on the man and squeezed his thighs gently as they trembled.

Sherlock pulled back just enough to swipe his tongue across the head, the taste of his pre-cum was salty and god he wanted to taste every inch of John's skin. Later, his mind supplied helpfully and he returned to his task at hand in getting John to orgasm.

He reached up and began to stroke his perineum and occasionally give his balls a soft squeeze. He used John's grip in his hair as his guide and it only took two more minutes for John to give just the right tug and cum into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock barely registered his own release as both men sagged, John against the lockers, Sherlock against John with his cheek pressed against a soft thigh.

"Did...did you cum in your pants?" John finally asked still breathless.

Sherlock took a moment to assess the conditions of his pants and nodded. "I did. Yes."

"Just from...this?" John asked.

"And these," Sherlock practically purred as he reached up and wrapped his hand around John's hand, that had switched from it's tight grip to a soft stroking movement. "Very sensitive follicles."

"Really?" John's lips twitched and he gave an experimental tug.

Sherlock's eyes flutter and in turn, he squeezed the back of John's thigh. "As much as I'd love to experiment with bodily reactions," Sherlock reluctantly pulled away and stood up. He was glad he'd worn his coat otherwise it'd be very awkward trying to explain the wet patch on his pants. "I need to leave."

"Right...I should shower…" John tugged his clothes back up. "We should uh…"

"Where's your phone?" Sherlock asked.

John frowned. "What?"

"Your phone, where is it?" Sherlock asked.

"In my locker," John answered as he pointed behind himself. He stepped aside as Sherlock reached for the handle and pulled it open. He picked up the phone and held it out to John. "If you could."

John, still with the adorable look of confusion, unlocked the phone and Sherlock took it back. He pulled up the contacts and added his phone number.

"What are you doing?" John frowned as he tried to grab the phone.

"Clearly, we both feel something for each other," Sherlock used his height to advantage and held the phone above his head out of arm's reach. "Now I believe you're going to go and get completely sloshed, but afterward, when you're relatively sober, we can talk about this and what we need to do. Also, please keep jumping, this is rather enjoyable for me."

John grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him into a kiss, biting his lip a bit roughly. Sherlock's brain may have momentarily short-circuited. John pulled away and smirked in triumph as he snatched the phone away from the man.

"Touche," Sherlock licked his lips.

* * *

 _Clearly, we both feel something for each other._

Sherlock buried his face into the couch cushion, wanting to scream. Why in god's name had he said something so bloody stupid? Perhaps he could find someone to suffocate him just enough he could forget ever uttering those words and play dumb if John approached him.

He was in the middle of contemplating what method would be more effective when his phone started to chime. He frowned and snagged it off the coffee table and pressed talk as he brought it to his ear.

"Hello…?"

"Hullo~"

Sherlock sat up. "John?"

"Bingo," the other broke off into a fit of giggles and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"John, you're drunk, you should go home," Sherlock told him sternly. "We can talk during my office hours."

"Mmm can't go home," John mused.

"Surely someone can give you a lift back to the dorms," Sherlock frowned.

"Mmmmm nope. Not at the party anymore," John giggled again. "M'outside your flat."

Sherlock blinked. "What?"

"M'outside...can I come up?" His voice sounded soft all of a sudden and Sherlock's insides squirmed.

Sherlock hurried downstairs and opened the front door of the building to see John standing on the doorstep. He looked at Sherlock sheepishly or attempted to. His eyes were red and puffy, the right one turning an ugly shade of black and blue. His shirt was on backward as if he'd had to dress in a hurry.

A state Sherlock knew he hadn't left him in only a couple hours previous.

"M'sorry I just...I…" He hugged himself. "I didn't…"

"Sherlock? Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock called over his shoulder and quickly ushered John inside.

"Oh dear," the older woman stepped out of her flat and took in John's disheveled appearance. "I'll put on the kettle."

Sherlock gave her a grateful smile and turned his attention back to John as she went back inside. John flinched as Sherlock started to place his hand on his shoulder, then seemed to berate himself.

"Sorry…" John apologized.

"It's alright," Sherlock took a small step back to give John some space. "Just straight upstairs."

"I remember…" John gave him a small smile and gripped the banister.

Sherlock took in the bloodied knuckles and made a mental note to get the first aid kit out of the bathroom. They entered the flat quietly, Sherlock had to verbally tell John to sit. He seemed lost.

He grabbed the first aid kit out of the bathroom and filled a small bowl with water and grabbed a small washcloth from the linen closet and joined John on the couch.

"You want to talk about it?" Sherlock asked. He carefully took John's hand and began to clean the blood off his knuckles.

"Don't mind me, just bringing you boys some tea and biscuits," Mrs. Hudson said as she carried in a tray.

"Thank you. I'll remember to bring it down in the morning," Sherlock told her.

She gave them both a smile and shut the door behind her as she left.

John gave Sherlock a curious look.

"Mrs. Hudson owns the building," Sherlock supplied. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"If I talk about it...I'm going to be sick…" John shook his head.

"Then we won't talk about it," Sherlock told him. He wrapped John's knuckle with a few plasters and a bandage a few times for extra measure.

"I'm sorry…" John apologized again. "I don't know why I came here I just...I couldn't go back to my dorm and...I couldn't…"

"It's alright. I'd give you a few painkillers, but despite your act of sobriety, I've got a feeling you're so sloshed you can't feel a thing can you?" Sherlock told him.

"Sounds bout right," John nodded. "Would...would it be alright if I stayed here tonight? I could kip out on your couch…"

"Bed's much more comfortable," Sherlock told him. "Though I don't know if I have anything that will fit you. While you are shorter, you're a bit broader than I am. Have some tea and give me a moment."

He stood and left John on the couch as he walked to the spare room upstairs, that sometimes double as a guest room, or all-purpose room and looked through the closet before he found a pair of Mycroft's clothes and returned to the living room.

"My brother's," Sherlock held them out to John.

"You have a brother?" John asked as he took the clothes.

"Sadly," Sherlock drawled.

John smiled a bit in understanding.

"Bathroom's just off the kitchen," Sherlock added.

He cleaned up the tea, John had had a little as well as some of the biscuits, which was good. Sherlock filled a glass of water and grabbed a few painkillers and set them on his bedside table for John in the morning.

He changed into a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt and glanced up when he felt eyes on him.

"What?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"S'weird," John slurred a little. "You dressed like that."

"What? You thought I had pajamas that looked like suits?" Sherlock chuckled.

"Yes, actually," John nodded.

"Get in," Sherlock pulled the covers back.

John visibly swallowed but slowly stepped forward and got in under the covers. Sherlock dashed out and made sure the front door was locked-he'd gotten new lock's since Irene's last visit, but it never hurt to be careful.

John was already asleep when he returned. He was curled up on his side, arm wrapped tight around the pillow he was using. Sherlock thought back to the laugh he'd coaxed from John only hours before and felt anger at whomever, or whatever, had caused such a dramatic shift in the younger man.

He turned off the light and quietly moved to the other side of the room to get into bed and made sure to keep a little distance between them, lest John wake up in a panic. Sherlock found the remote on his bedside and switched on the stereo.

Sherlock drifted off to the sounds of Bach in his ears and a warm body curling up next to his own.

* * *

 **Kip -** sort of a british term for sleep/nap


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **I'm also going to add there's probably some typo's I've missed.**

 **Warnings: Bit of Fluff, hinted mentios of assalt**

 **Chapter 4: Thank You**

There were a few things John realized as he started to wake up. His head felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it, his face throbbed, he was once again in his professor's bedroom, in his bed. Though said professor was not actually in bed with him.

He sat up carefully and picked up the glass of water and painkillers left on the bedside table and popped them into his mouth before downing the water. He found his phone face down on the table as well and winced at the fifteen missed calls and forty texts.

Some were more congratulations on winning the game, some were asking where'd he went too, two required him to tilt his head and…

"Oh my…", John quickly deleted the photos.

The bulk of the calls were from Moran. Each spaced just about twenty minutes apart ending with what looked like a three-minute voicemail.

John set the phone face down again and instead got out of bed in search of Sherlock.

He found the man seemingly engrossed in something on his laptop. He was still dressed in an old t-shirt and sleep pants, with a tan dressing-gown thrown on top. He had on a pair of black wire-framed glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose.

What looked like a crystal ashtray was balanced on the armrest of the couch, a cigarette dangling between two long fingers, and another cigarette already stamped out.

"Bathroom's just two your left," Sherlock said. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He seemed to hold it for a minute before exhaling slowly. "Feel free to shower, I've left some towels and another change of clothes in there."

"Ta…" John took him up on the offer and shut the bathroom door behind him. He relieved himself as the shower warmed and stripped off the pajamas then stepped inside. He unwrapped the bandages to look at his knuckles and was happy to note the damage was mostly superficial.

The warm water felt nice against his sore muscles. Closer inspection revealed a bruise on his left thigh (strange how it almost resembled a pair of fingers), a bruise on his right shin from when a member of the other team kicked him instead of the ball, and a few minor cuts on his hands from sliding on the ground or using them to block.

He washed up, being mindful of his bruised face as he carefully ran a towel over it and stepped out once he'd finished and wrapped himself in a towel.

The clothes Sherlock had left out for him were a pair of cotton sweats, a thin long sleeved shirt, and no underwear. He shrugged and pulled on the clothes, dried his hair and tossed the used towels into the hamper before walking back out to the living room.

Sherlock was just putting out a third cigarette as John entered and he set the ashtray aside. He laptop was already closed and pushed to the corner of the coffee table. John felt like he was under a microscope as Sherlock tapped the cigarette carton on the armrest of the couch and looked at him.

"What happened last night?" Sherlock asked.

"...You gave me a congratulatory blow job in the locker room and then creamed your pants…" John answered.

"True," Sherlock's cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he seemed to recall the memory, "but I also left you rather satisfied." He set the carton aside and leaned back on the couch. "Only to have you show up on my doorstep completely sloshed and a little worse for wear…." his brow furrowed. "John, if you were-"

"No! Jesus no,"John interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair and dug his bare toes into the carpet. "No, just...we had too much to drink, some things were said, I don't...I don't even remember half of what happened."

It was a lie. A terrible lie. John knew it. So did Sherlock.

"I understand it's...difficult to talk about these things. But I am your professor and if you need someone to confide in, I can tell the school and keep it anonymous if you want," Sherlock told him.

John snorted. "Seems a bit dumb considering what happened between us."

"It's not your fault John," Sherlock continued.

"I know it's not my bloody fault," John snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Look, I just, I don't want to talk about it okay? Can we...can we just talk about something else? Or have sex? Sex sounds really great."

A pained look flashed across the man's face. "John, there's some-" Sherlock picked up his phone off the coffee table as it began to vibrate and the look was replaced by annoyance. "I've got to take this."

John nodded and stepped back as Sherlock rose from the couch and brushed past him and into the bedroom with a clipped 'what' following behind him.

He awkwardly stood in the middle of the living room and took in the small area. Papers scattered on the coffee table, he raised an eyebrow at the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall behind the couch and the worn furniture.

"Good morning dear." The older woman from last night -Mrs. Hudson- Sherlock had called her, smiled as she walked into the flat with a tray of food. "Sherlock thought you might be in need of a good breakfast after the night you had. Man can't be bothered to cook through."

"Oh, let me give you a hand with that," he quickly walked over and took the tray carrying it to the kitchen.

Two plates were piled with sausage, bacon, eggs, beans, and toast. John's mouth watered at the sight and the smell

"Has Sherlock lived here very long?" John asked as he sat down with one of the plates.

She walked over to the kettle and filled it with water before setting it to boil as a thoughtful look crossed her face.

"Goodness, going on about ten years now," she answered after a minute. "Best tenant I've had once you get past those hard edges. He really is a big old softie." She smiled.

"Are you spreading lies again Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he walked out of the bedroom. He snatched a piece of bacon off of John's plate, despite his attempt to stop him.

"Really Sherlock, the mess you make," she tutted and gave John a secret smile. "You two boys enjoy." She patted Sherlock's cheek as she left the kitchen and used the separate door that led into the hall shutting it behind her.

"So, ten years huh?" John asked. He finished off his bacon before Sherlock could take another and started to cut the sausage.

"It's a nice neighborhood," Sherlock shrugged. "She was having trouble renting the place, I'd just finished graduate school and didn't fancy going home, win-win for both of us."

"It's very you," John smiled. "How about a proper tour this time?"

"First eat," Sherlock pushed a plate towards him. "You'll feel better."

"Only if you eat too," John replied.

"You drive a hard bargain," Sherlock pretend to look put out, even as he grabbed another piece of bacon.

The two sat across from each other and it was less than a minute before Sherlock's foot was brushing up against John's ankle underneath the table. The man's face remained blank, save for the slight glint in his eyes everytime he 'happened' to look at John.

Breakfast was quickly finished, John practically licked his plate clean, and the dishes left for later as Sherlock stood.

"As you can see this is the kitchen, really for show, I don't eat much so the kitchen doesn't get used very often," he had the decency to look abashed at the stern look John gave him. "Of course, I've been eating a lot more than before."

"I call this my 'office' though I use the term loosely," they stepped just between the sliding kitchen doors where two chairs were sat facing each other in front of a fireplace. It was still a bit too warm for an actual fire so the small gate was left latched. "Ah and this is a friend of mine...well when I say, friend, I mean…"

He trailed off as he stared at the skull before he motioned for John to follow. "This is the living room," he tried to straighten up the coffee table and stuffed the carton of cigarettes into the pocket of his dressing gown. John raised an eyebrow.

"You try living in London and not smoking," Sherlock shrugged. "The place came with two bedrooms. It started out as a guest room at my mother's insistence but I don't get many guests seeing as my parents usually stay with Mycroft, so now it's just things I mean to get rid of but can't find the time to do so."

John nodded and watched him walk over to the window and open it.

"You mind?" he fished the pack out of his pocket and started to take one out.

"You've had three already," John pointed out.

"Mmm point?" Sherlock asked. He grabbed a lighter off the bookshelf next to him and tossed it onto the couch after he'd lit the stick.

He leaned against the windowsill and took a deep drag of the stick and waited a few moments before blowing it out.

"I keep meaning to switch to electric," he added as he examined the stick.

John licked his lips as he watched the long fingers bring the cigarette to his lips again. He took another drag and curved his mouth in the shape of an 'o' and blew out a few circles before the rest of the smoke blew out his nose reminding John of dragons from books he used to read as a child.

"What's stopping you?" John asked.

"Too much effort," Sherlock answered. "Hand me the ashtray would you?"

John picked up the crystal ashtray next to the arm of the couch and held it out to Sherlock. He took the ashtray and tapped the cigarette against the edge as he looked at John.

"Something on your mind Mr. Watson?" he stabbed the cigarette out in the astray and set it aside.

Sherlock smirked as he walked towards him until John had to tilt his head in order to keep eye contact. John cleared his throat as he looked away and ran a hand through his hair.

"I should uh...I should get going. My friends are probably wondering where I am…" He took a step back to put some distance between them. He tugged at the sleeve of the shirt.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Hudson insisted on cleaning your clothes and mending your sweater," Sherlock apologized. "You can return those to me on Monday, during office hours, of course."

"Of course…" John nodded. "I'll just get my things…"

He turned and walked back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. It lit up to show another five missed messages and he sighed.

Sherlock was waiting by the door with his coat and shoes.

"Thanks for...thanks…" John said lamely. He pulled on his coat and shoes.

He followed Sherlock down the stairs as the man walked him to the door and shoved his hands into his pockets as he stared at the floor.

"John."

He looked up at the soft utterance of his name and leaned into the slow, soft kiss Sherlock gave him. He was the first to pull away, though he didn't want to.

"Text me when you get to your dorm," Sherlock told him. "Otherwise Mrs. Hudson will worry."

"M'sure she will," John nodded. "Thanks…"

"So you keep saying," Sherlock chuckled as he opened the front door. "Goodbye John."

"Bye…"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **I'm also going to add there's probably some typo's I've missed.**

 **Warnings: Mentions attempt of assault.**

 **Chapter 5: Stay**

" _Oi, Watson, you know the rules. No empty hands," Moran said as he shoved another drink at him._

 _He slung his arm around John's shoulder and John had to grab ahold of him to keep from falling over._

 _"Don't spill it, drink it," Moran laughed as some of the liquid sloshed over the side of the glass and onto John's shirt._

 _"If you stop moving then I'll be able to," John shot back with a laugh. He swayed a bit_ _on his feet as he brought the glass to his lips and took a few sips. He frowned a little at the tangy taste and pulled the glass away. "What is this? Taste weird."_

 _"Just a beer," Moran shrugged. "Drink up."_

 _John shook his head and set the glass aside. "Feel like I'm_ gon'barf _, I'll have some later," he lied. He was too drunk to see the brief annoyed look in Moran's eyes as he set the glass on a nearby table._

 _"Be right back, gotta hit the loo," he ducked under his arm and staggered his way to the bathroom._

 _Moran grabbed his arm before he could get there. "Someone already made a mess of that one, there's one upstairs."_

 _John nodded and allowed the other man to lead him through the crowd of people and up a flight of steps to the-_

 _"S'not a bathroom," John pointed out as Moran pushed open a door to a bedroom._

John rolled over as his alarm started going off and groped around blindly for the off button. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and picked his phone up as he made his way to the closet and dug around for something to wear.

He scrolled through his text messages and slowed as he read over one from Moran.

 **Sorry bout the party, let me buy you a drink as an apology? -M**

 **Don't worry about it. Rain check on the drink, study group tonight**

He set the phone aside and finished brushing his teeth. He shoved his phone into his back pocket and grabbed his backpack and keys as he left his dorm and locked the door behind him.

* * *

 **Come on, skip study group. Drinks on me -M**

John stared at the newest text and felt his stomach roll at the possibility of getting drinks with Moran. His mind was still fuzzy on some of the details from that night but they weren't pleasant details.

His knuckles were still a bit sore, and from what he'd gathered Moran still had the remains of a split lip and black eye.

"Mr. Watson, perhaps you'd like to what has captured your attention with the rest of the class? I assume it must be oh so interesting as you've been ignoring today's lecture."

John looked up and saw Sherlock regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry…" he mumbled and put his phone back in his pocket.

He tried to will away the guilt steadily mounting his guy as he looked at the man. He'd been close to skipping class in an effort to avoid the man. Monday and Tuesday had passed by easily enough given the class didn't meet then, and none of his classes were in the science building, but he couldn't risk missing a quiz grade.

 _Clearly, we both feel something for each other._ Sherlock's voice still rang his head. _We'll talk when you're sober._

Only, they hadn't had they? No. They ignored it. They eye fucked and John wussed out and left. God, he had wanted to stay so bad. They didn't even have to have sex, sex was honestly the furthest thought from his mind then.

Just being there. With him. With Sherlock. It felt good. So good and waking up in his bed. Waking up and seeing Sherlock in his own home. He regretted ignoring the urge to just curl up next to him while he worked.

Would Sherlock have put his arm around him? How nice would that have felt if he had? He sighed and looked back down at the textbook on the desk in front of him.

The man was his teacher. He had a girlfriend. They could both get into serious trouble if they tried to pursue something….would Sherlock even want to pursue something with him? Oh god, what if Sherlock was just humoring him? What if he was just telling John what he wanted to hear? What if he found John's attention bothersome?

"John?"

Sherlock's voice closer now.

"John breathe. Put your head between your legs and take deep breaths."

"Ca...can't," John gasped out.

"Everybody out now," Sherlock ordered.

John barely registered the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. He dug his fingers into his palms and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Just breathe John," Sherlock repeated gently. "It's alright. I'm here. I've got you."

"I'm an idiot," John choked out. "Such an idiot."

"Everybody's an idiot," Sherlock replied.

John's breath hitched again.

"Relax John, or you're going to pass out," Sherlock instructed.

 _Wouldn't that be icing on the fucking cake_ , John thought.

It took twenty minutes for John to reach a state of passable calm. And another ten before he could actually speak. Not that he actually did.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head.

"I must warn you, I'm very good at charades," Sherlock continued.

John started to smile, but it fell short as his phone buzzed into his pocket again. He hugged himself in an effort to stem off another panic attack.

"What's wrong John?" Sherlock asked.

"It's nothing…" John answered. "It's stupid."

"Clearly something is bothering you," Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. "Does it have to do with what you were looking at?"

John found himself nodding.

"Right, give me your phone," Sherlock held out his hand.

John shook his head. "No, I can take care of it."

"I am calling absolute bull shit. Phone. Now," Sherlock demanded.

John's shoulder's sagged as he reached into his back pocket and handed the man his phone. He wasn't even going to ask how Sherlock figured out his password and instead focused on the way Sherlock blue dress shirt brought out the paleness of his skin.

"John…"

"Don't...please, just, let me handle it."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked. "John, I can't help if you don't tell me."

"Who said I need your help?" John suddenly snapped.

"John, I want to help you because you're one my students and it's my job to make sure you're okay," Sherlock remained calm.

"Bit of shit job you're doing ain't it?" Sarcasm dripped off every word. "Is it your job to fuck your students too?" He snatched his phone back. "I don't need you dropping in like some fucking knight in a black Belstaff."

He shoved his things into his bag and slung the back over his shoulder. "So kindly fuck off." He stormed out of the room.

* * *

 _"What're you doing?" John slurred as Moran backed him against the wall._

 _"Celebrating a good game," Moran chuckled._

 _John snorted. "Ha ha very funny. Seriously, move."_

 _"Oh don't be like that. Should be feeling extra good by now," Moran reached for the hem of his shirt._

 _John blinked and tried to ease him off. "What are you talking about?"_

 _"Slipped a little something extra into our drinks," Moran shrugged._

 _"You...drugged me?" John asked. "What the fuck."_

 _"Oh please," Moran rolled his eyes. "Come on. I know you were flirting with me earlier."_

 _"I was not flirting with you, get off of me," he tried to be firmer as pushed Moran._

 _"Yeah, right," Moran grabbed his wrist._

 _"I'm serious," John tried a different tactic and kneed him in the groin._

 _Moran swore and growled as he tried to grab John. He snagged the sleeve of his jumper and yanked him back._

"You're hurting my feelings."

John tried not to tense as Moran pushed himself off the wall of John's building. He walked over to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I saw you at practice," John replied.

"You know what I mean," Moran rolled his eyes. "What gives? Still pissy about the party? It was just a joke, Watson."

"A joke?" John clenched his hands into fists. "Sadly, you and I don't seem to share your twisted sense of humor. Trying to drug someone is not a joke."

"Was just gonna take a few pictures, have a little fun," Moran shrugged. "S'not like you're a stranger to fun. And you've got such a nice arse. Can you blame me?"

"I'm gonna be sick," John covered his mouth.

"Oh come off it," Moran rolled his eyes. "Much rather you be actually coherent for that bit."

"Mr. Moran, unless you'd prefer a nice trip to the Dean's office you will cease this harassment of Mr. Watson."

Sherlock's voice cut through the air like a knife and his hand was a solid weight on John's shoulder. He hadn't realized how much he'd been shaking until he had felt the hand.

"Who the fuck are you?" Moran frowned.

"Someone with friends in very high places," Sherlock answered. "Now, as I said, leave or be escorted to the Dean's. You're choice."

"Whatever," Moran huffed and walked away.

John swayed on his feet and Sherlock dropped his hands from his shoulder, only to grab his hand a few seconds later and guide him to a nearby bench outside of the building. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a couple deep breaths trying to keep the bile that threatened to crawl up this throat at bay.

"How...how'd you find me?" John asked.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a knight in black Belstaff, it's my duty to know where the damsels are," Sherlock answered.

John chuckled at first, then hunched forward even more as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

"I...I'm sorry...I shouldn't...what I said…"

"Shhh, it's alright John," Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back. "It's alright John."

"No, it's not," John's voice cracked.

"Moran-"

"It's not about him," John pulled himself away already missing the touch. "It's you."

"Oh…I see..." Sherlock stood and inclined his head towards John's building. "Perhaps this conversation would be better had inside?"

John nodded a little and dug into his pockets for his keys. He led Sherlock into the building, up to the second floor and to his dorm. He never realized how sparsely it was decorated until someone other than his mates were in the room with him.

Sherlock shut the door behind him and set his briefcase on the floor next to John's desk. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the back as he sat.

"What?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"M'trying to imagine you living in a college room like this…" John asked.

Sherlock grimaced. "I had a roommate. Wasn't fun."

John slipped off his shoes and sat on his bed suddenly exposed. He rubbed his hands together not sure of what to say.

"Thank you...for...what you said to Moran…" John started.

"I still have half a mind to report him," Sherlock answered.

The clear venom in Sherlock's voice startled John.

"Please don't...I can...I can handle him," John looked at his sheets. "I can try anyway…."

Sherlock nodded. "Was I...the reason for your panic attack?"

John swallowed. "Yeah...I…" he licked his lips. "I just started thinking about what happened over the weekend and...and what you said, about us liking each other...but, I thought...I thought you might be humoring me, or telling me what I wanted to hear. I...I like you, I know I shouldn't. I know you're my professor, and I know you have a girlfriend, but I...I like you, and I didn't want to leave and the thought of you not liking me...it..it hurts…"

"Oh, John…"

John felt, rather than saw the bed dip. When had he closed his eyes?

"John look at me," Sherlock's fingers were warm on his cheek as he turned his head. "Please?"

John opened his eyes to look at Sherlock.

"I didn't want you to leave either," Sherlock told him. "I wanted you to stay. I didn't even want to get out of bed that morning, waking up next to you was...I've never felt that way, John."

"Then why didn't you ask me to stay?" John asked. "I would've stayed if you'd ask."

"I know...I know," Sherlock answered. "But I need...I need you to ask me. I need-"

"Will you stay?" John interrupted softly.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** **So first off this is actually the first Johnlock fic I've ever really wanted to publish. I don't own any of the characters, and I'll be adding warnings where applied. Enjoy!**

 **I'm also going to add there's probably some typo's I've missed.**

 **Warnings: Fluff and brotherly fighting**

 **Chapter 6: Big Brother .VS. Little Brother**

Sherlock woke up to darkness with the only light streaming in under the door of John's dorm. He rolled onto his back, being mindful not to wake John, and took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose to relieve a small headache he'd acquired from sleeping with them on.

" _Stay...we don't have to do anything, I just...can you stay? Please?" John reached up and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's._

 _Sherlock knew he should say no, he should leave, the line between them was already dissolving, staying could wipe it out of existence. But-_

 _"Okay," Sherlock nodded and John relaxed._

 _No, relax isn't the right word. He sagged. The tension drained from his body._

 _Sherlock stood up and toed off his shoes while John pushed the already rumpled sheets to the foot of the bed. Sherlock got back in the bed and moved so his back was to the wall. John laid down next to him, his head tucked under Sherlock's chin and an arm wrapped around Sherlock, their legs slotted together._

 _"Why'd I need to ask?" John murmured softly._

 _"Because...I needed to know you wanted this too," Sherlock answered._

He reached out and ran his thumb across John's cheek. His black-eye had all but faded and a nice feeling of pride? Impressiveness? Swelled in his chest to see Moran's face still colored a lovely shade of sickly green.

"Tickles..." John mumbled as he opened his eyes.

He blinked up at Sherlock bleary-eyed but smiled a bit.

"Want me to stop?" Sherlock asked.

"No...s'nice…" John answered.

He reached behind him to get his phone and both men winced at the sudden bright light from the screen. John squinted as he scrolled through some texts.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Little after midnight," John answered. "Some nap huh?"

"Indeed," Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgment as his eyes adjusted to the dark again. "Perhaps I could hire you as a student worker…"

"What?" John asked.

"You asked me to stay John," Sherlock answered. "And I don't see myself letting you go so easily."

"Oh…"

Sherlock could hear the smile in John's voice. "If I hire you as a student worker, then we'll be able to spend time together outside of class without it seeming suspicious," Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair. "I could use an assistant. Grade tests and the likes."

"Am I allowed to do that?" John asked.

"Not for our class no," Sherlock answered. "But I teach a few logic classes, and criminal studies class as an extracurricular, you could grade those quizzes and tests."

"What did you even go to school for?" John asked. Curiosity was laced in his voice.

"I double minored in psychology and criminal law, with a double major in philosophy and chemistry," Sherlock answered. "I went to graduate school to get my masters in emphasis on understanding the modern human."

"Amazing…" John murmured. "You've got the brains and the looks."

Sherlock blushed at the compliment and ran his fingers through John's hair. "You shouldn't throw such words around so carelessly."

"Fraid I'm being honest," John smiled and leaned in and brushed his lips against Sherlock's. "You're just...oh, you're so gorgeous and brilliant."

Sherlock shifted a little as John started to climb on top of him and tangled his fingers into his curls.

"Extraordinary really," he continued and kissed Sherlock again. "M'always fascinated by you."

Sherlock swallowed around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat as the praise washed over him like a crescendo. His cheeks were no doubt red and he was thankful for small miracles that John made no move to turn on the lights.

 _If only you really knew..._ Sherlock thought bitterly as John settled on top of him.

"Can you stay a little longer?" John asked. "I promise to keep inflating your ego if you do."

Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of John's head. "I should go...if I stay, then it'll be a bit difficult to explain my presence in the student dorms."

"Private tutoring," John smirked as he nuzzled him. "Helping me with anatomy."

Sherlock laughed and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. "God that's tempting. Where do you suppose we'd start?"

"I could name the parts of your body."

Sherlock could practically see John's smile in the dark.

"Start with the frontal, work my way down to the pectoral," he brushed his fingers over Sherlock's chest. "Followed by the groin, and finally," he tangled their feet together "the pedal."

"I think you've missed the important bits," Sherlock pouted.

"Oh?" John asked with a hint of teasing.

Sherlock smirked and ran his fingers down John's back to cup his ass. "The gluteal."

"See? All the more reason for you to stay," John groaned as he pushed back into the hands.

"Next time," Sherlock promised after a heartbeat. "Come on, up you get."

John huffed and rolled off giving Sherlock room to sit up. He twisted this way and that letting out a sigh at the satisfying crack his joints gave.

"I would invest in a memory foam pad, much better for the back," Sherlock told him as he pulled on his coat.

"Is that what you've got?" John asked. "You're bed's like sleeping on a cloud."

"Pillow top actually," Sherlock answered. "Though I'm glad you approve of my mattress."

"It helps there's a handsome bloke who sleeps on top of it too," John stood up and walked over to Sherlock. "How come you never wear a scarf…"

"Constricting," Sherlock answered. "My coat holds up just fine."

A thoughtful look crossed John's face as he reached out to finger the wool fabric of Sherlock's coat.

"You're going to need to let me go at some point," Sherlock smiled softly. "You'll get tired of me after another twenty minutes."

"No I won't," John looked up.

"You will…" Sherlock said. "Get some sleep."

"Only if you do," John replied.

"You drive a hard bargain." Sherlock kissed his forehead as John dropped his hands.

* * *

"Love what you've done to the place brother mine," Mycroft mused as he walked into Sherlock's shut the door behind him before walking over. "Honestly, a man your age should know how to pick up his things properly."

"If you're so put off by my messes, perhaps you shouldn't clean up after me so often," Sherlock said. "What are you doing here Mycroft?"

"I wanted to see how you were settling in. You weren't sending complaining texts, I got worried," Mycroft collected the stack of books from the chair in front of Sherlock's desk and set them on the floor as he sat.

"As you can see, I'm fine," Sherlock replied. "Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."

"I'm not finished," Mycroft said. "Irene told me of your little, drink was it?"

"Took her long enough." Sherlock set the pen aside. "I don't see how it's any of your business really. I'm allowed to sleep with whomever I want."

"What's his name Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"None of your business," Sherlock answered.

"Don't be childish. It doesn't suit you," Mycroft told him.

"Me? Be childish? Why Mycroft I am being nothing but a pleasure, you on the end," Sherlock tsked as he pointed at his brother with his pen. "Mummy would be so displeased if I told her you just barged into my office without so much as a call. Where ever did those manners go?"

"The same place your sense of morality is residing." Mycroft gave him a tight-lipped smile. "What is his name Sherlock."

"No idea who you're talking about," Sherlock answered. "I was as high as a kite, so you'll forgive me I'm a bit light on the details."

"Must I inquire a drug test as well?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh come off it Mycroft," Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not stupid. You know me, cigarettes are my only vice. Though we do have a nice four day holiday coming up. What's the going rate for a nice bit of coke you think?"

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

Sherlock stood up and walked to the door. He pulled it open with a dramatic flourish and looked back at his brother.

"Goodbye Mycroft."

Mycroft stood to his feet and gripped the handle of his umbrella. "I must remind you brother dear. Big brother is always watching."

"You're right about the big part." Sherlock flashed him a grin. "I see the diet's failing again."

Mycroft gave him a withering glare as he walked out of the office. Sherlock shut the door behind him with more force than necessary and collapsed onto his couch throwing an arm over his face.


End file.
